


as the waves come (let 'em take us)

by ShatterinSeconds



Series: in the eye of a hurricane (there is quiet) [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Pirate Keith (Voltron), Pirate Lance (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 06:26:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14538636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatterinSeconds/pseuds/ShatterinSeconds
Summary: “Lance, you’re going to make me fall,” Keith says as those lips move closer to his jawline. Lance brushes a lock of hair behind Keith’s ear, in order for his lips to make contact with Keith’s pale skin.“Don’t worry, I’d save you,” Lance replies as they watch the ocean before them.(or just your average fluffy pirate au)





	as the waves come (let 'em take us)

**Author's Note:**

> Wow it feels so good to finally be able to write again. The semester is almost over; now I just have to get through finals.
> 
> I've been wanting to write a pirate au for a while now so here you go. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title is from the song Used to Be by Arrows to Athens
> 
> \----  
> Edit 5/6: this work is now part of a series as I will be writing a prequel fic for this au.

Saltwater kisses his face as he leans slightly over the railing. Hands wrap around his waist, anchoring him to the deck as he stretches out his arm to catch the waves below. The water is refreshing as it washes across his fingers, and he leans further down to feel more, one hand now tightly gripping onto the railing for additional support. Lips find the back of his neck, tickling his skin, and he has to bite his cheek to hold in a chuckle.

“Lance, you’re going to make me fall,” Keith says as those lips move closer to his jawline. Lance brushes a lock of hair behind Keith’s ear, in order for his lips to make contact with Keith’s pale skin. Most of his hair has fallen from the messy ponytail it had been originally trapped in, the long locks whipping at his face whenever the wind rips through the air.

“Don’t worry, I’d save you,” Lance finally replies, chin now resting on Keith’s shoulder, watching the ocean before them.

A storm’s coming.

The signs are undeniable.

The aqua blue of the sea has turned a dismal gray, and the clouds overhead amass in force. It’s darker behind them than ahead, so they continue to sail in hopes of out running the weather as long as they can.

The ship rocks through the water, the sails rustling in the wind and the rigging flapping against the wooden poles. Their skeleton crew has gone below deck for dinner, finished with their work. Lance and Keith should have followed, but the allure of the oncoming storm had been too powerful to leave behind. With a gigantic dip as the ship crests a wave, Keith stumbles back into Lance’s hold, his leather boots scraping against the wooden planks. Blue eyes sparkle with mischief as he spins Keith around to view his face. Freckles are splashed against Lance’s brown skin, having darkened from the constant summer sun they’ve been experiencing lately.

They left port five months ago. It had been winter, steeples pumping smoke into the air, and a light dusting of snow fell onto every surface, often catching in Keith’s long hair as a sort of snowflake crown. The air would turn white in front of him as he breathed; fingers went numb, the thin fabric of his gloves providing little protection. Frost had covered the deck every morning for a week straight until they sailed further into the ocean and into more tropical waters.

Lance smiles, a toothy smile, and sweeps his short hair off his forehead. A lighter patch of skin appears on his shoulder as the collar of his shirt slides a little to the left when he raises his arm. Though currently hidden by his clothing, a large burn scar, the shape of a starburst, mars the long expanse of his back. Greek fire would have consumed Keith’s whole body if Lance hadn’t pushed him away at the last second. They began to hold each other a little closer after that incident--which had consisted of a short scuffle with another band of pirates that ended with too little gain for what was almost lost.

“You think we should go below deck soon?” Keith asks, not even turning back to gaze at the horizon.

Lance’s brows furrow slightly in concentration. “Unless we want to get soaked, so probably.”

“We still have a little while though, right?” Keith begins to walk across the deck, basking in the scent of oncoming rain--a reminder of what spring would have been like if they stayed back in London--and the humidity thickening around him. He breathes deeply. “I don’t want to miss this.”

Lance smirks, stalking closer, hands clasped behind his back. Shaking his head, he asks, “Why is this type of weather always your favorite? It’s what every sane pirate or sailor dreads.”

Keith grabs hold of his arms, dragging him closer so their lips can almost touch. Somewhere many miles away, a distant rumble of thunder drums through the air. Every nerve in Keith’s body tingles with renewed life. “It’s exciting,” he supplies as an answer at which Lance laughs.

“Alright, but the first sign of a raindrop I’m dragging you back inside. We can’t afford for you to get sick, Captain,” Lance mockingly bows with a tilt of his lips.

“As first mate, it _is_ your duty to care for me,” he replies in equal humor.

“I always will.”

Lance stands proud in his drawstring shirt, beige colored breeches, and brown boots, a complete opposite to Keith’s darker color palate. Fingers tap the hilt of his pistols as Lance cocks his head in wonderment of what Keith is planning to do--or why Keith continues to stare. It’s hard to break away and Keith no longer feels embarrassed when caught openly admiring Lance. The days of clandestine looks and touches had been left behind in London.

Beautiful is how Keith would describe Lance, if he could only choose one word.

A steady, but violent, breeze dances across his skin as Keith stops in the middle of the deck, a chest of weapons behind him, bolted down to the boards in preparation of the storm. Unlatching the lock, Keith kneels, eyes flickering over the brief flashes of steel and leather he catches within the chest. His dark red duster falls from his body as he allows it to remain in a wrinkled heap on the floor, kicking it to the side.   

“Let’s train,” Keith says suddenly, now standing with a sword in his hand.

Lance immediately drops his two twin pistols on his belt in favor of the short sword Keith tosses to him. Whipping out his own dagger, Keith begins to pace, watching as Lance abensmidenly twirls the sword to check the balance, a cocky smile on his face.

They eye each other for a second before Lance declares, “First one to be disarmed loses.”

“No other condition? How lame,” Keith frowns with boredom, side eyeing Lance. They continue to walk in a circle, feet shuffling across the deck as they wait for the other to lunge first.

“Alright,” Lance says casually, “If I win, I get to use that new rope on you tonight--” he wiggles his eyebrows in a way that conjures a brief grin on Keith’s face “--and if you win, you make me captain for the day.”

“Both of those things favor you,” Keith quickly responds with a ghost-like appearance of a smirk on his lips. “Nice try.”  

“Fine, if you win, you get to do whatever you want to me tonight… within reason.”

Nodding in agreement, Keith strikes first, practically leaping over the space that divides them to be right in front of Lance. Having no time to dodge, the short sword is brought up protectively above Lance’s head as the dagger bounces against the metal. Vibration score both of their hands, traveling up their arms.

A grimace sets on Keith’s face, concentrating on every swipe and block and dodge he has to make. The thick air already causes sweat to bead up on his skin, his cotton shirt already sticking to his chest. Panting, he rolls away from Lance’s next attack, the sword inches away from chopping off his hair and his head. Lance laughs, running closer to Keith. With Keith’s weapon being the shorter of the two, he knows he’ll have to continue to get in close to Lance, a huge disadvantage, but he has the speed of a skilled fighter where Lance hasn’t mastered the footwork quite yet, only having started a few months ago. He’s a fast learner though, and Keith knows he’ll have to watch every move carefully.

A flash of lightning illuminates the sky, a bolt striking behind Keith and disappearing beyond the horizon. The unexpected source of light casts wicked shadows against Lance’s face as he grins madly. Raising his sword for another blow, Keith deflects it with the hilt of his dagger, sweeping the distracted Lance off his feet. The recovery time is quick though and all Keith is able to do is wipe the sweat from his brow, raking his long bangs away from his face.

The smirk of Lance’s face hasn’t vanished yet as Keith comes at him once again. It’s infuriating now.

Having anticipated Lance’s move too late, the tip of his sword catches onto the sleeve of Keith’s shirt, tearing it practically in half. “Lance!” he exclaims, “I don’t have many left!” They either get ripped, burned, or sullied with bloodstains--his own or his opponent’s--and if he’s really lucky, all three will happen during one fight.

“Sorry, darling, gotta be quicker next time,” Lance shrugs unapologetically while barely dodging Keith’s next attack.

“You’re lucky I know enough sewing to mend it,” he growls as steel clangs together. Muscles straining against the pressure, Keith thrusts forward, causing Lance’s feet to take a small step back. The sharp edge of the sword is inches away from Lance’s face, who grins deviously for unknown reasons, most likely preparing to disarm Keith, when a crack of thunder physically quakes the ship.

It sends Lance toppling forward, weapons dropping to the ground in a clatter as Keith falls backwards from the momentum Lance’s unexpected weight adds. The deck boards provide an unforgiving bounce as Keith muffles a painful groan. Lance’s head pops up, resting on Keith’s chest, and though he winces in sympathy, he still asks, “So who dropped their weapon first?”

Looking up at the dark gray clouds culminating together overhead, fat with rain and the promise of a terrible storm, Keith mulls over his answer. “If I let you tie me up however you want, will you let me stay out here a little longer?” His gaze eventually travels back down to Lance, whose fingers absentmindedly trace patterns on his shirt, his comfortable body heat traveling all the way down to Keith’s bones.

Lance’s brown hair is mused from their training session, frizzy with humidity and curling on his temple. He looks exhausted, the way his chest rises and falls in exaggerated amounts, but that grin is intoxicating.

“Deal,” Lance answers at long last, a lazy expression on his face as he becomes quite comfortable on top of Keith. Leaning forward, Lance places a sweet kiss on Keith’s lips, and his hands slide up to cup Keith’s face, thumbs brushing just under his eyes. Keith’s hands rest on Lance’s back, pressing him impossibly closer.

A lighting strike and a loud crack of thunder separates them with a startled laugh.

Once they stand, smoothing down their wrinkled clothes, a few raindrops splash against Keith’s skin. It begins to flatten his hair to his cheeks and forehead, and he laughs, throwing his arms wide open to welcome the soon to be downpour. Lance tilts his head back, a smile remaining on his face, equally as large as Keith’s. Large drops begin to patter Lance’s cheeks, becoming caught in his long lashes before rolling off his skin.

And the sky opens for them.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments and kudos:)


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